Conspiracy

Chapter 7

Akstyr strolled down the street with his hands in his pockets, trying to look casual despite the sweat slithering down his spine. Affluent pedestrians meandered down the cobblestone lane, chatting with vendors selling everything from exotic spices and flavored honeys to engraved wooden swords and shields for children. Now and then, enforcers strode past the carts, batons and short swords dangling from their hips. Akstyr subtly avoided them, glad he had tied his hair back in a knot so his usual spiky tufts wouldn’t draw attention. It seemed a strange neighborhood for his contact to frequent, but then the man wasn’t a criminal himself, so he had no reason to avoid the law.

A couple of thieves tried to “accidentally” bump Akstyr for a chance to fish in his pockets, making him feel a little more at home. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, he didn’t have any money for them to find. Amaranthe and the others weren’t back yet, so payday hadn’t come, and he’d spent his last fifty ranmyas to arrange a meeting with Khaalid, a sharpshooter and blade master who had, his reputation said, gotten wealthy by collecting bounties on gangsters and felons. His reputation also said the meaner the bastard he was hunting, the better. He might be crazy enough to want a stab at Sicarius and wealthy enough to pay for information on his whereabouts.

A brass sign hanging above a doorway ahead of Akstyr read, Juiced. He weaved around vendor stalls, heading for the shop.

To his side, someone darted out of sight, using a vegetable cart for cover. Akstyr paused. It probably had nothing to do with him, but nobody else was acting suspiciously in the neighborhood. He hadn’t had a good look, though he’d glimpsed long hair and a dress.

He waited for a moment, but he didn’t spot the person again. After resolving to keep an eye out on the way back to the hideout, Akstyr slipped into Juiced.

Warmth rolled from a furnace in the back where a boiler powered an engine driving a maze of moving pipes, gears, and levers that stretched along the walls and even across the ceiling. The complex apparatus smashed fruit and muddled the cafe’s “special blend of energizing herbs” before pouring the contents into giant glass carboys that filled shelves behind tables full of patrons. Some carboys were fermenting their concoctions, emitting a yeasty smell that competed with the fruity scents in the air, while other jars had spigots and simply held fresh juice.

While Akstyr watched, a woman wearing a grass skirt filled a glass with a greenish liquid and delivered it to a table where a slender, fit man dressed in dark green sat alone. He handed the server a couple of coins and sipped his beverage. Couples and groups occupied the other tables, so Akstyr figured this lone figure was his contact. The bounty hunter lacked a Sicarius-like knife collection, but he did have a pair of long blades in a torso harness that he’d draped over the back of his chair. If he carried a pistol, it wasn’t visible-not surprising since firearms were outlawed in the city. A few scars chipped at his weathered features, giving him the experienced visage of a veteran, and Akstyr vowed to be careful dealing with him.

The man nodded in his direction, and Akstyr joined him. The bounty hunter had taken a chair that put his back to a corner, and Akstyr grimaced at the only other option, a seat on the opposite side. After seeing that person darting out of his path, he didn’t want his back to the door either.

He dragged the free chair about so that the back faced a clanking, hissing tangle of pipes and sat down. He promptly felt silly since the position put him less than a foot away from the man’s arm.

“Khaalid.” The bounty hunter inclined his head in a nod, all business, but then a smirk teased his lips. “Do you find me attractive, or do you always sit this close to people you’ve just met?”

Akstyr’s instinct was to scowl and scoot the chair away, but it might be better to act as if the comment didn’t bother him. He wasn’t some young rube. He was calm and unflappable. “Enh, you’re decent.”

“Quite true, yes.” Khaalid eyed him up and down, and Akstyr struggled not to panic. He hadn’t offered some sort of flirtation, had he? “You’re either fearless or stupid to want a meeting with me,” Khaalid said. “Care to opine on which it might be?”

Relief washed over Akstyr when the bounty hunter switched to business, but he stiffened as soon as the man finished speaking. “Why do you say that?” Akstyr asked, figuring that sounded better than confessing to either of the two options.

Khaalid slipped a hand into his pocket. Akstyr tensed, thinking the man might pull out a weapon, but he removed a piece of paper. Rather leisurely, he unfolded it and held it up for Akstyr’s perusal.

On the paper was a clumsy sketch of himself. He wouldn’t have recognized it except for the spiky hair and an inset image of an oversized hand with a Black Arrow brand clearly displayed. Words under the drawing read, “Wanted dead: Akstyr, former Black Arrow and wizard. 5,000 ranmyas. To be paid upon proof of death by Trevast the Terror, the Madcats.”

It was the first Akstyr had heard of the bounty. It probably should have scared him, but mostly it irritated the piss out of him. Trevast was buddies with Tuskar, the Black Arrows’ leader and Akstyr’s old boss. Amaranthe had sweet-talked Tuskar into leaving Akstyr alone-there’d been an implied threat that Sicarius wouldn’t stand for an attack on Akstyr-but Tuskar was afraid of magic and had never liked Akstyr, so he’d probably talked Trevast into putting the bounty out. Too much of a coward to do it himself and risk Sicarius’s ire.

“Fresh news to you?” Khaalid returned the poster to his pocket.

Akstyr shrugged. “Only bounties put out by enforcers are legal. As far as I know, they don’t particularly want me.” Only because they didn’t know that he practiced the mental sciences, but he wasn’t about to bring that up. “From what I hear, you kill gangsters and are on good terms with the enforcers. You won’t turn me over to some street thug.”

“But you run with people who the enforcers do want. The emperor too for that matter.”

“Yes, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I’m listening,” Khaalid said.

“They say you’re good, but you’re not nearly as well known as Sicarius.”

“Irrelevant,” Khaalid said, his eyebrows descending. “I hunt villains. I don’t assassinate honorable citizens.”

“He’s a villain, right? Why don’t you hunt him?”

Khaalid’s lips thinned.

“The villains you’re hunting would fear you more if you could say you’d taken him down,” Akstyr pointed out. “Think what it would do for your reputation. Think of the prices you could command then.”

Khaalid leaned back in his chair. “I’ve decided. You’re fearless and stupid. You’d betray someone you run with, someone exceedingly dangerous, and for what? You want me to kill him and give you a cut of the money?”

“Look, he’s as mean and cruel as they get.” Not really, Akstyr thought, but he did catch himself rubbing his neck and remembering the time Sicarius had threatened him if he didn’t do what Amaranthe said. “Somebody’s got to rid the world of him.”

“And you want it to be somebody else, somebody who will take the risk and share the bounty with you.”

“I don’t want a share of the bounty, and I wouldn’t openly go against him. But someone like you… If you’re as good as they say, maybe you could do it. All I’m asking is a finder’s fee for pointing you in the right direction. I’ll tell you where he is and what I know about him. Including… his one weakness.”

Khaalid drank some of his green juice, though he took longer consuming and contemplating the beverage than normal. Akstyr hoped he was thinking things over. As far as Akstyr knew, Sicarius had no weaknesses, but he could make something up to entice this man. All he had to do was capture Khaalid’s interest, arrange to collect the finder’s fee, and send him off in the wrong direction. A part of him couldn’t help but think that he’d never have to worry about Sicarius again if he sent Khaalid in the right direction, but this man probably couldn’t do the job. And if Sicarius found out Akstyr had been behind the setup…

“How much of a finder’s fee are you looking for?” Khaalid asked.

Akstyr leaned back and crossed his leg over his knee, trying to appear indifferent over the conversation’s outcome, but inside he was jumping up and down and clenching his fist. Khaalid was interested.

“Fifty thousand ranmyas,” Akstyr said, expecting to negotiate. Twenty-five thousand ought to get him out of the empire and into a good school.

“You don’t want much, do you?” Khaalid asked.

“I want to make sure the only people who try are serious and honestly believe they can succeed. It’s a big risk for me. If you fall at Sicarius’s feet, and he questions you before he kills you…” Akstyr twitched a shoulder. “I want that ugly lizard out of the world, but I’m not looking to die in the process.”

“Hence why you’re trying to get someone else to risk dying.”

“Someone else who’s capable of killing Sicarius. I know I lack the skills.”

“You flatter me, but I imagine you flatter everyone you’re trying to talk to their deaths.”

“You’re supposed to be good.”

“What’s Sicarius’s one weakness?” Khaalid asked. From the abrupt way he shifted the topic, Akstyr guessed the man was trying to catch him off guard so he’d let the information slip.

“I’ll need to see your payment before I give you such a key detail.”

“Uh huh.” Khaalid finished his juice, left a coin on the table, and stood. “I am good. And intelligent. That’s why I’m not touching your offer.” He buckled on his sword harness.

Akstyr cursed to himself. He’d thought he had enticed the man. “I’ll tell you everything I know for twenty-five-thousand ranmyas.”

Khaalid tossed the folded wanted poster onto the table. “No, and if I were you, I’d get out of town unless Sicarius likes you enough to protect you from the money-hungry gangsters who are going to be wrestling with each other for a chance to get your head first. Given what you’re trying to do to him, I doubt that’s the case.”

Khaalid strode out of the juice cafe without a backward glance. Not tempted by the offer after all. Maybe Khaalid had been stringing Akstyr along to get more information. Information he might send along to someone else?

A clank sounded on the wall above the chair the bounty hunter had vacated. A bunch of grapes had rolled into a glass box, and a series of alternating ceramic pestles came down, mercilessly squishing the fruit.

Akstyr cursed again, this time out loud, and strode out of the cafe. Worried that he’d made a huge mistake, he forgot to pay attention to his surroundings. When a hand stretched out from behind a vendor’s cart to clasp his forearm, he jumped two feet.

He whirled toward the source, his own hand scrabbling for his knife, but he stopped before drawing the blade. A woman stood before him-a familiar woman. She was leaner than Akstyr remembered, with a hawkish nose and knobby wrists protruding from a clean but oft-patched dress. The long braid hanging over her shoulder was the same, though gray strands mingled with the black now.

Akstyr stepped back, pulling his arm from her grasp. With stiff formality, he said, “Mother.”

She smiled, a gesture he had rarely seen, and stepped forward, lifting her arms. She must have noticed his stiffness, for her hands dropped. “Son.” Her smile remained.

Akstyr searched the crowded street behind her. “Your sweet-thistle-dealing lover not around?”

“Lokvart? No. We… We’re not together any more.”

“I see.” Akstyr did not know if that made him glad or not. It’d been more than eight years since he’d seen his mother, and time had worn the edge off his bitterness. Sometimes he felt proud that he’d survived without her help, that he was learning the Science, and that he might be somebody who mattered someday.

“Yes.” His mother took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I know that probably doesn’t mean anything to you at this point, but I was wrong to… I never should have been with someone like that. When he made me choose you or…”

“The sweet thistle?”

“You or him, I should have left. But I was afraid of being alone again with no roof and no job and.. I’m sorry,” she repeated, then found her smile again. “You look good. You’re a man now.”

“Why are you here?” Akstyr eyed the street again. Though this wasn’t the type of neighborhood gangsters roamed, the new bounty on his head left him uncomfortable standing out in the open. “You haven’t looked for me for eight years. Why now?”

“Eight years? Has it been that long? It’s only been since this summer that I was able to wean myself away from the thistle.” She slipped a hand into a dress pocket and pulled out a paper.

Akstyr tensed. Not someone else toting around his new wanted poster.

But she unfolded a pair of newspaper clippings. “I’d thought… I’d feared you had died on the streets all those years ago. Then I saw your name this summer and again last week, mentioned with those other people that are… helping the city, is that right?” Moisture brimmed in her eyes. “I know you won’t believe this, but I’m proud of you.”

“Uh. All right.” If his mother had ever shown that she cared for him, Akstyr might have felt more at her proclamations, but all they were doing was making him uncomfortable.

She dabbed at her eyes with a worn dress sleeve. “I never thought a child born of the blood of a thieving rapist could ever be anything special.”

Akstyr jammed his hands into his pockets and resisted the urge to say that her blood wasn’t anything special either.

“But you’re doing something with your life, aren’t you?” She met his eyes. “You’re not going to be worthless like your Ma.”

What was he supposed to say to that? All Akstyr remembered of his mother was yelling, mostly yelling about what a burden he was and that she wished he’d never been born. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t had to fend for himself, stealing food and swiping clothes from lines strung between alley walls. These tears and kind words-apologies-were unfamiliar. A part of him wished to believe it was real, that time had changed things, changed her, but most of his parts were too busy being suspicious. To hunt him down after all these years, she had to want something.

“I have to go,” Akstyr said.

His mother stepped forward, a hand outstretched.

Akstyr stepped back again, and she dropped it. She closed her eyes and seemed to fight to mask a hurt expression on her face. Akstyr tried not to feel like a bastard, but she was making it hard.

“I’m busy,” Akstyr said. “That’s all. We’re getting ready for a mission.” Which was true. Amaranthe and the others might be back any hour.

“I understand,” his mother said. “But please tell me where I can find you again. It was chance that I saw you today.”

“I don’t know. We’re going to be out of the city for a while.”

“When do you leave? At least let me buy you one of those dog-shaped cookies that the bakers at West Quay make.”

The ones he used to steal as a boy; yes, they had been his favorites. He’d almost lost a hand to a humorless baker who’d moved surprisingly quickly for someone so ponderous. Boys shouldn’t have to steal cookies. Yet… it meant something that she remembered his fondness for them.

“You don’t have to buy me anything,” Akstyr mumbled. “I’ll try to get to the Quay tomorrow night if you want to meet me then. We’re leaving the morning after that.”

“I’ll be there,” she said.

Akstyr strode away without looking back. He didn’t want her to think her appearance mattered in his life, though he feared he’d volunteered himself up for disappointment. Either she wouldn’t show up, and he’d wish he hadn’t wasted time going, or she would show up, and she’d probably want money or something from him.

Maybe Sicarius would find out about Akstyr’s deception and kill him before then, making the whole situation moot. Great thought that.

Amaranthe and Books climbed creaky wooden stairs leading to the attic of an old print shop owned by the university. A newer building with steam-powered presses had precluded the need for the dusty screw presses housed below, and visitors were infrequent, usually students and rogue scholars printing subversive documents on the sly. Should any of those people chance upon the outlaws living in the attic, they couldn’t very well turn anybody in when they were participating in illicit activities themselves.

Outside, beneath the noonday sun, Sicarius was finding a place to hide their stolen farm lorry. At least Amaranthe hoped he was doing so. She had asked him to, but he hadn’t acknowledged her with a word or even a look. In fact, he hadn’t spoken since they left Sergeant Yara’s village. Part of it might be that he was worried about Sespian, but she knew part of it was irritation with her.

Amaranthe pushed open the door to the attic and found Maldynado and Basilard sitting across from each other at a desk, playing Strat Tiles on the railway map Amaranthe had laid out before they left for the training exercise. Akstyr sat cross-legged on a crate a few feet away from them, a book open in his lap, though she’d caught him gazing down at the floor instead of at the pages. He flinched when Amaranthe met his eyes.

“Hullo, boss.” Maldynado waved a tile in the air.

Amaranthe gave him a friendly nod, but added, “Nobody’s keeping a watch?”

“Oh, we didn’t need to,” Maldynado said.

Basilard lifted his eyebrows.

Maldynado pointed to a bank of southern-facing windows where sunlight peeped inside, leaving bright rectangles on the whitewashed floorboards. “The dust on those sills started cowering, so we knew it was you coming up the stairs.”

Amaranthe paused, torn between coming up with a rejoinder or rushing over to the windows with a kerchief.

“Don’t do it, boss,” Maldynado said, apparently guessing her thoughts. “It’s bad enough that you cleaned the glass last week. Secret hideouts are supposed to have grimy films over the windows, the better to camouflage one’s clandestine operations.”

“Yes, speaking of clandestine operations,” Amaranthe said, “now that we’re back together, we can collect the items on my shopping list and finalize our plans.”

“ Shopping list?” Akstyr curled a lip. “I don’t want to go marketing.”

Maldynado’s lip twitched, too, perhaps because his pretty face made him the group’s designated shopper.

“Relax, gentlemen.” Amaranthe laid the list on their table. “We’re not talking about broccoli and lamb shanks here.”

Maldynado and Basilard leaned forward to read the list.

“Item number one,” Maldynado said, “blasting sticks. Two, knockout gas. Three, smoke grenades. Oh, good. Manly things.”

“Blasting sticks?” Akstyr asked. “What market has those?”

“More importantly,” Books said, “what are the blasting sticks for?”

“My plan.” Amaranthe smiled and glanced over her shoulder, wondering if Sicarius had joined them yet. She needed the blasting sticks for her kidnapping scheme, but she also hoped they could get enough of them to blow their way into the collapsed mine and the remains of Tarok’s shamanic workshop.

“Will the details of that plan be forthcoming soon?” Books asked.

“Yes,” Amaranthe said. “As some of you already know, the last train we can catch to reach Forkingrust in time to intercept the emperor leaves at dawn. We need to gather our supplies and be on it. Most of us, anyway.”

“Most?” Books asked.

Wait. Basilard pointed at Maldynado. Shouldn’t you tell her about your brother first? Might that knowledge not affect our plans?

Maldynado frowned. “I hope not.”

Amaranthe arched her eyebrows. “Brother?”

“Uhm, yes,” Maldynado said.

Also, she needs to know who got those weapons.

Amaranthe nodded. On the trip back to the city, she’d been so busy scheming ways to get that thing out of Sespian’s neck that she hadn’t thought much about what the other half of the team had been doing.

Basilard seemed to be waiting for Maldynado to start explaining, but when Maldynado merely sat there, shoulders hunched, grimace frozen on his face, Basilard started signing. His fingers flowed, explaining the details of their trip to the army fort.

Chagrin blossomed within Amaranthe as she “listened” to his words. The weapons had been for the military? Not for some coup against the government or the city? She and Sicarius had destroyed, or at least severely damaged, a weapons-making facility that shipped orders to the army?

Amaranthe found herself by the windowsill, wiping away the dust as her mind spun. Dear ancestors, she’d been worried about the kidnapping getting her team in trouble, but this would be a major blow if the authorities found out what she had done. And she’d been foolish enough to amble up and knock on that farmer lady’s door. As soon as someone questioned that woman…

Ugh, just when she’d managed to convince Deret Mancrest that her team was working for the good of the empire… Just when they’d started to see favorable stories printed in the newspapers…

“But there might still be some plot, right?” Akstyr asked.

Thoughts focused inward, Amaranthe had stopped seeing Basilard’s hand signs, but Akstyr’s words made her lift her head. “What?”

Akstyr looked from Maldynado-who was being oddly silent-to Basilard who shrugged, then nodded, then shrugged again. “On account of Maldynado’s brother not being stationed here regularly and him being with that evil-looking fellow in black,” Akstyr said.

At the mention of someone evil in black, all heads turned toward the door. This time, Sicarius was there, standing in the shadows, his face as frigid and unreadable as ever. Out of all of her mistakes over the last two days, Amaranthe was most regretting sharing their plans, however obliquely, with Yara. Sicarius hadn’t said as much, but she had a feeling he saw it as a betrayal of trust. She wasn’t sure he was wrong.

“Evil fellow in black?” Books asked.

“He looked like someone Sicarius would know,” Maldynado said, suddenly animated. Maybe he’d rather talk about anyone except this brother? “Same entirely unimaginative wardrobe, predilection for cruel weapons, and humorless face.” Maldynado draped his elbow over the back of his chair and considered Sicarius. “More scars though.”

“Describe him,” Sicarius said.

“Didn’t I just do that?”

He was an older, white-haired man with a scar, Basilard signed, then drew a semi-circle beneath his eye.

“A brand?” Sicarius asked.

“Yes,” Maldynado said at the same time as Basilard nodded. “It looked like someone stamped him with a hot iron, the way they brand sheep up in the hills.”

“Someone you know?” Amaranthe asked Sicarius. She caught a hopeful tone in her voice. She had to admit that she dearly wanted those weapons to be part of some villainous scheme, so she could justify her team’s interference.

“Major Pike,” Sicarius said.

“An army officer?” Amaranthe asked, though the lack of a “crest” name meant he wasn’t warrior caste. Though rare, ordinary soldiers did sometimes earn officer ranks through great deeds. Either way, it dashed her hopes that this fellow’s presence signified a nefarious plot. If he was an officer, he had a right to be there.

“A former officer, yes,” Sicarius said. “He was forced out of the service nearly thirty years ago for excessive cruelty.”

Basilard’s eyebrows flickered. You can be discharged from the Turgonian army for that? I thought it was a desirable trait.

“Easy, now,” Maldynado said. “We’re not that bad.”

“He was a rare case,” Sicarius said. “As a young officer, he made his superiors uneasy with his zealousness during interrogations. Later he tortured and raped young recruits, using his rank to force them to remain silent. When this was discovered, he was kicked out, and his family disowned him.”

That’s despicable, Basilard signed.

“Atrocious,” Books said.

“Agreed on both counts,” Amaranthe said.

“So, this fellow was one of the Pikecrests?” Maldynado asked. “They’re an old and honorable family. I can see why they’d want to disassociate themselves from someone of that, uhm, caliber.”

“After the incident,” Sicarius said, “Hollowcrest recruited the major to be the emperor’s Master Interrogator.”

Amaranthe snorted. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I’m not.” Maldynado smirked at Sicarius. “Is he the chap who taught you how to interact with folks in such a friendly and affable manner?”

Sicarius sent a stony glare in his direction.

Maldynado nodded. “Yes, like that.”

Amaranthe watched Sicarius, also wondering under what circumstances he might have been associated with this man. No, she supposed she needn’t wonder. Who better than a Master Interrogator to help train the emperor’s personal assassin? If this Pike had been forced out of the army thirty years earlier and promptly gone to work for Hollowcrest, Sicarius might have been young, less than ten years old, when they first met. Amaranthe had seen Sicarius get answers out of people efficiently-though she had a feeling she hadn’t seen the extremes he might go to if she were not around to influence him-but she’d also seen him take horrible wounds himself without flinching or acknowledging the pain. Somehow she doubted that was a… talent one could learn without having endured a lot of pain in one’s life. Though Sicarius spoke little of his past, she remembered him once saying he’d learned to think of other things when his mind had to be elsewhere.

Sicarius returned her gaze, and, not for the first time, Amaranthe wondered if he ever wondered what she was thinking.

“Am I correct in assuming he no longer works for the emperor?” she asked.

“Sespian saw to his dismissal shortly after Raumesys died,” Sicarius said.

“Good for him.” Maldynado pushed aside the tiles on the table and waved to the map. “Are we going to plan the emperor’s rescue, or sit around squawking like hens all day?”

Basilard pointed at the scattered tiles. You only did that because you were losing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Your brother, I believe,” Amaranthe said. “I’d like a few more details there, if you don’t mind. Is he an officer at Fort Urgot? Does it make sense that he’d be in charge of overseeing a delivery of weapons? Any idea what he’s doing with this Major Pike?”

“In no particular order, I don’t know, I don’t know, and I don’t know,” Maldynado said. “I haven’t seen him in years, and I haven’t talked to anyone in my family since before I joined up with you.”

“Can you tell us his name, at least?”

“I like to call him Lord General Dungpile,” Maldynado said. “Technically it was Lord Lieutenant Dungpile when I was a boy, but both have a nice ring.”

“Maldynado,” Amaranthe said, “I can see there’s not a lot of love flowing between you and your family, but I’d appreciate a little help here.”

“Ravido,” Akstyr said. “That was it, right? General Ravido something-crest.”

“Thank you, Akstyr.” Amaranthe frowned at Maldynado, and he squirmed under her gaze, oozing discomfort. He was always so relaxed and unflappable that she could only imagine that his family was a source of painful memories. She wanted more details, but had a feeling she would have to get him somewhere private to extract them. Like a private shopping trip. “Maldynado, how would you like to help me purchase a few items this evening?”

He winced, though he covered it quickly with a smile. “With you? Why don’t you let me go on my own? You know I get the best deals when I operate solo.”

He must know she wanted to pump him for information. “Yes,” Amaranthe said, “something about you finding it easier to convince female businesswomen and vendors that they have a chance with you if there’s not a lady tagging along behind.”

Books had pulled out his journal and a fresh newspaper he’d picked up and seemed to be looking around for suitable workspace, but he paused to snort at the conversation.

“I need to go along to do the special knock,” Amaranthe went on. “I’ve already put in the order, but I’m concerned I won’t have enough funds to cover the fee she quoted me. I thought you might be able to talk her down a little. Any reason you can’t make it?”

“None that I can think of,” Maldynado muttered.

“Good.” Amaranthe faced Sicarius. “That farm lorry we… acquired-” truth though it may be, she couldn’t bring herself to say stole, “-do you think it’s in suitable shape to be driven up to the Scarlet Pass?”

“There will be snow in the mountains,” Sicarius said. “A storm could make the roads impassable.”

“Even to people with blasting sticks?” Amaranthe asked.

The look Sicarius gave her suggested her question did not deserve an answer.

Basilard signed, Aren’t we taking a train across the mountains?

“Most of us are,” Amaranthe said, “and we’ll infiltrate the emperor’s train at Forkingrust, but for my plan to work, I’ll need a couple of people to go to the pass separately, with a few blasting sticks, to create a slight distraction that will force the engineer to stop.”

“A distraction?” Books frowned. “Such as a landslide?”

“One that covers the railway completely, yes,” Amaranthe said.

Books’s frown deepened. “You intend to blockade one of the main supply lines to Stumps?”

“Not permanently. We’ll just drop a tiny bit of rubble across the tracks, so the soldiers need to climb out and work on clearing it.”

Basilard signed, While we pull the emperor out?

“That’s the idea,” Amaranthe said. “Once the train is delayed and we escape with the emperor, the team can get away in the lorry.”

“You’re going to ask the emperor to ride in that dilapidated pumpkin hauler?” Maldynado asked.

“He’s the one who asked mercenaries to kidnap him,” Amaranthe said. “He can’t expect us to pick him up in a velvet-cushioned steam carriage.”

“No, no. A clunker purloined from a farm will never do for this mission,” Maldynado said. “You need a reliable vehicle to get the blasting sticks into the mountains, one with enough size and comfort to fit everyone in afterward, including persons accustomed to fine things.”

“Do you know where we could get a more appropriate vehicle?” Amaranthe asked, wondering if she would regret it.

“Better, faster, you bet. I have a friend, well, more than a friend in truth… Lady Buckingcrest. She has all sorts of interesting conveyances. I’m certain I could arrange for a suitable transport for our needs, providing I’m not being tasked with the unchallenging task of bartering for lower prices on blasting sticks.”

The blasting sticks weren’t going to be inexpensive, and Amaranthe had a feeling Maldynado would be useful in that negotiation, but his eyes were gleaming, and he seemed quite pleased at the notion of talking to this Lady Buckingcrest. Amaranthe wondered if he wasn’t simply looking for a way to avoid spending time alone with her. Still, a better vehicle would be a boon.

“You think you can get us something suitable for a climb into the mountains?” Amaranthe asked. “For a low price?”

“For free, I should think.” Maldynado examined his nails and smiled. “Lady Buckingcrest and I have a special relationship. We’ve known each other since we were teenaged youths, first exploring carnal endeavors. She’s married these days, but she finds me quite fascinating now that I’m disowned and running with outlaws. Not that I wasn’t fascinating before. And she owes me for countless hours of-”

Amaranthe flung up a hand. “Those types of details aren’t necessary.”

Maldynado blinked innocently. “I was going to say witty conversation.”

“Please,” Books said.

“Either way, I’m certain I can acquire something suitable.” Maldynado winked, and Amaranthe had a feeling she should be worried.

“This isn’t going to go smoothly, I can tell.” Books pocketed his journal, pulled a chair up to the table, and laid out the newspaper. “Fraught. Already this mission is fraught with perilous dangers and morally ambiguous choices.”

“Booksie.” Maldynado flung an arm across Books’s shoulders. “Don’t say things like that.”

Books shoved the hand off. “Why not? They’re true.” He scooted his chair out of Maldynado’s reach.

“Well, of course they’re true. It’s an Amaranthe plan after all. But the way you say things makes you sound old and stodgy. You’ll never get a woman by blathering on like that.”

Amaranthe arched an eyebrow at Books. “I’m not sure which one of us he insulted more there.”

“Oh, it’s me,” Books said. “It’s always me.”

Maldynado smiled broadly. Books hunched over the newspaper and ignored him.

Sicarius had moved closer to the table, and, thinking he wanted to add input, Amaranthe asked him, “Any thoughts on the plan? Or whether I should feel more insulted than Books?”

“No.”

That surprised her. Actually it worried her. He had more at stake than any of them. If Books thought her plan was “fraught” she imagined Sicarius would find problems with it too. If he didn’t have any input, maybe it was because he’d already decided to go off on his own. He’d given her nothing but steely glares ever since she’d talked with Sergeant Yara.

“Any news on us?” Akstyr asked Books.

“No,” Books said.

Amaranthe wondered at Akstyr’s sudden interest in newspaper articles. He hadn’t noticeably cared when Books read the previous ones that mentioned the team.

“This is interesting though.” Books pointed to a front-page entry. “A banker was found in his bed, dead of a violent seizure.”

Akstyr’s nose crinkled. “You think that’s interesting?”

“It might be a signal of fractures amongst the Forge coalition. Or perhaps not everyone in the business world is choosing to sign on. This man was only thirty, and there’s mention of a mysterious bump at his neck.”

Amaranthe stepped toward Books, lifting a hand, afraid he would mention Sespian. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him she was keeping information about the implant from Sicarius.

Books didn’t see her. His sentence seemed to flow out as slowly as molasses, but at the same time Amaranthe couldn’t get to him to stop it in time. “It sounds like what we saw on Sespian’s throat in his photograph.”

“What?” Sicarius demanded.

Books looked up and blinked. “Oh, you didn’t see the other paper. That’s right.” He removed a torn-out page from the back of his journal and held it out.

Sicarius’s eyes were frozen, staring at Amaranthe, piercing her to the soul. She swallowed. Without breaking eye contact, Sicarius accepted the newspaper, though he continued to stare at Amaranthe. She wanted to tell him she’d only meant to keep him from worrying so much, but she didn’t know if she could say it when, in the back of her mind, she knew she’d also stayed silent to keep him from storming off and taking action on his own. Lying now could only make him resent her more. And she couldn’t explain herself, explain any of it, not with the whole team looking on. Even now, the men were shifting uneasily and sharing confused expressions over the icy silence in the attic.

Sicarius looked down at the paper. Amaranthe felt like she’d been released from the clutches of a glacier. She braced herself against the table while he scrutinized the picture.

“I have an idea,” Amaranthe said quietly. “We’ll get him first-there’s no time to alter our plans for the kidnapping-but then we’ll take him to-”

Sicarius crumpled the newspaper, dropped it, and stalked out the door.

Amaranthe groaned to herself. That was exactly what she’d been afraid would happen. There was no telling what he’d do now.

“What’s his problem?” Akstyr asked.

Books looked back and forth from Amaranthe to the door through which Sicarius had disappeared. His brown eyes were narrowed thoughtfully, and Amaranthe avoided them.

“The man obviously needs to find a woman,” Maldynado said. “Or a man. Whatever he prefers.”

“You offering?” Akstyr smirked.

“Oh, please.” Maldynado sniffed. “I can do far better than him.”

Basilard lifted his eyebrows.

“Speaking of the emperor and this device that may be in his neck,” Books said, pointedly ignoring the side conversation, “should this change our plans? What if we kidnap him, and Forge is able to… end his life from a remote location?”

“They’ve kept him alive this long,” Amaranthe said. “They must have some use for him.”

“Maybe they’re just keeping him to ensure peace in the city while Forge readies themselves for something,” Books said.

“Something involving the army and a lot of weapons?” Amaranthe asked and glanced at Maldynado. “Or a certain faction in the army?”

“Maybe the emperor wants us to kidnap him, so he gets out of range of that neck-bump thing,” Maldynado said, and Amaranthe wondered if he was deliberately steering the conversation away from family matters.

Perhaps that old woman we saw escorting him at the dinner last summer holds the controls to the device, Basilard signed.

“You’re suggesting there’s a range of effectiveness and he hopes that we can take him beyond that range so he can act freely?” Books asked. “If he couldn’t get away on his own, that might explain why he wanted to hire us. He must know about the device.” Books patted his pockets. “I wish I’d thought to research some of the technology and gadgets we’ve seen Forge employ. As it is, I’ve only got…” He frowned, gave himself another pat down, and delved into his pockets only to come out empty-handed. “It’s gone.”

“What is?” Amaranthe asked.

“My journal with the list of Forge names and addresses and everything I know about the outfit.” Frowning, he checked his pockets again. “That represents three months worth of research. I just had it. I didn’t leave it in the lorry, did I?”

Amaranthe stared at the open door, the door Sicarius had long since disappeared through.